Rylan’s hand froze halfway to his face.

The red and blue light cut through the kitchen, painting the white cupboards in rhythmic, bleeding strokes.

Solene stood up, her chair scraping sharply against the old linoleum.

“Who did you call, Calla?” Rylan asked.

His voice lost its mocking edge, dropping into a low, hard register.

“I didn’t have to call anyone today,” I said.

The doorbell rang, a long, loud chime that echoed through the high ceilings of the hallway.

Rylan set his coffee cup down with a force that sloshed the dark liquid onto the clean table.

“Stay here,” he ordered Solene.

He walked past me, his shoulder brushing mine with deliberate weight.

I followed him into the narrow hallway, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird.

The air near the front door was cold, leaking through the old wooden frame that Rylan had promised to weather-strip months ago.

Through the frosted glass of the door, the silhouettes of two police officers were dark and imposing.

Rylan pulled the door open, putting on his familiar, easy smile.